Lab Rat
by AnneriaWings
Summary: The look on my parents' faces – eager, curious, somewhat hateful – wasn't exactly hard to give away their intentions. I knew what they were going to do to me even before Mom snapped on a pair of rubbery, white latex gloves.
1. Part One: Capture

_**Author's Note: **Hello, all! Uhh... this originally started off as a (_very) _messy drabble with no real direction in mind, but after a bunch of editing and plotting, I decided to turn it into a short story. I'd always wanted to try for an actual dissection scene, and aim here to practice working with emotions and keeping reactions as realistic (as I think would be) as possible. It's rated "T," just to keep in mind, but there's nothing terribly gruesome - the worst of it is in Chapter Two... I think._

_Anyway, I hope readers will enjoy?_

_-Anneria_

* * *

**Lab Rat**

by: AnneriaWings

* * *

Blissful warmth instantly met the tension on my face as soon as I floated up through the big, metal roof of our family's Ops center. I sat down against the hard surface with a heavy sigh and took a look at the suburbs that were backed by the tall, distant buildings of downtown Amity. The skies were set ablaze by splashes of different shades of gold and orange, the bright late-afternoon sunlight casting long shadows everywhere while giving downtown a hazy glow. It was a beautiful view.

I loved spending the evenings up here, quietly watching the day fade away with the promise of a new one. Cheesy, I know – but at least it gave me some time to actually relax from a long day of trying to juggle school, my social life and my obligation to protect my city. If it wasn't for the fact that I was taking a serious risk by sitting up here – as a ghost – atop the headquarters of my obsessed ghost-hunting parents who were quick to shoot first and ask questions later, I'd probably spend a lot more time up here.

The nice weather offered a light breeze that brushed against my face and ruffled a few locks of my stark-white hair. I let a small smile drift across my face in response. Up here it was quiet, peaceful. The warm sunlight that countered the natural chill of my spectral temperature was quick to practically melt away any previous tension.

My admiring of the view – just sitting there, alone, with the whole world before me– was abruptly cut off by a sudden chilly feeling – colder than what I was already used to in ghost form – that plunged down into my core, sending shivers that wanted to wrack my body. My groan of annoyance fogged into the air in front of me. Fate had just chosen the _perfect_ time to rear its ugly head.

"Can't even ask for an hour of peace nowadays, can I?" I grumbled to myself, getting to my feet. Putting on my brave face without giving my reluctance a second thought, I leaped into the air and took off high over the rooftops of FentonWorks' neighboring houses, warily searching the streets and around the buildings for the specter that'd triggered my inner sense for the supernatural. Hero time.

There were three of them. The ghosts, it turned out, were little more than barely-corporeal green blobs – paltry masses of ectoplasm that looked like they could scarcely do any damage even if they tried. All three of the ghosts were gathered together in a small alleyway a few blocks down the street from the house. Drifting through the air with a scowl, I just watched them for a few seconds before springing into action. They weren't even doing anything, but I wasn't going to take any chances.

"Hey, uglies!" I jeered as I plunged into the alley, my eyes blazing, letting the cold, supernatural energy of my powers burst into existence around my hands. "Sorry to crash the party, but you've got to go."

Sparks of emerald power crackled and arced over my wrists, the energy fizzing lightly against my nerves and bringing an unconscious smile to my face. I didn't spare another moment's hesitation before firing an onslaught of the energy from my open palms that sent them scattering in a chorus of startled shrieks. One of them peeled off from its comrades to lunge at me in retaliation with a tiny growl, two beady red eyes set in a feral glare. It might have intimidated a two-year old, but it was pretty pathetic.

"Please; this is too easy," I smiled cockily. I easily moved to the side and watched the ghost topple clumsily into the brick wall behind me. "That all you've got?"

I sent another bolt of bright green into the foes, who were now darting this way and that in fits of confused agitation and fury. It would be a waste of energy to weaken them since they weren't much to deal with in the first place, so my hand reached around to the back of my belt, where the thermos was usually clipped to my waist.

Nothing was there.

"Damn it," I muttered, sighing in exasperation. The thermos was still at home. I could just leave them here and try to retrieve it – it wasn't like they could cause any real chaos. But that would mean having to spend even more time tracking them down if they happened to escape while I was gone… which was something I really didn't want to do.

Brows furrowed, I studied the ghosts. They huddled together, snarling, red eyes flaring angrily in an attempt to try and frighten me, the third member of the group having rejoined its companions.

"Maybe I could just… keep them frozen here or something until I get the thermos," I mused, then grinned; the solution sounded reasonable. "Hope you guys like the cold." I centered my focus for a moment as tendrils of blue, cold-as-ice energy formed within my palms—

"_Freeze, Phantom!"_

I didn't have time to turn around before a hot blast of energy suddenly slammed into my back, throwing me into the wall and cracking my head against it with a _thud_. Dazed, I tumbled down to the asphalt below and blinked a few times to rid the stars from my eyes. I saw the source of the two voices that'd startled me.

"You've got to be kidding me," I whispered, seeing my day-glow orange and teal-blue hazmat-suited parents stalking forward, weapons pointed right at me. "Uhh… long time, no see?"

"Now, you just stay right there, ghost," my father advised. His tone was much more serious than the usual cheery him, underlying something truly dangerous, and it gave me a sudden ripple of apprehension. He walked forward, ridiculously-sized bazooka still aimed point-blank at me, and I instinctively scooted backwards against the wall, my mind racing. Stay put, or try to scram while risking getting shot. From this distance even my dad could blast me to pieces before I could so much as move. My options were bleak.

Trying to stall for time until I could safely get away, my eyes flicked up to the spot deeper in the alleyway where I'd last seen the three glowing blob-ghosts. They were long gone. Turning back to my parents, I tensed, eyes locked onto their arsenal.

"Wh-what do you want?" I squeaked.

"Mads, the sedative." Dad muttered, ignoring my question. My eyes widened.

Sedative? Oh, _hell_.

Licking my lips, I glanced around the alley, searching for possible options. A sharp pain cut through my back as I started to get up. In response my father warningly charged the gun in his hand, the ghost-intended weapon making that familiar ominous, high-pitched whining sound as it charged up. "I said _don't move!_"

"You know, I'd just love to stick around and chat, but…" I suddenly scrambled to get up, my father's eyes and bazooka never leaving my direction. I leapt into the air before managing to evade a hit, and in my peripheral vision I could see Mom stepping out from behind him, aiming what looked like a small pistol. With a yelp of surprise I threw myself to the side, _feeling_ more than hearing something small whiz by my right ear. Instinct kicked in as I bolted in the only direction that seemed reasonable: up.

Before I could even get out of the alley and into the safety of open sky, though, the gun fired a second time. I felt something needle-sharp plunge into the skin just under my ribcage. I twisted around in surprise to see what looked like a small dart sticking out from my black jumpsuit.

"_Yes_, gotcha," I heard her say.

"_Shit," _I whispered as I yanked out the dart, cold panic starting to set in. But already the tranquilizer's contents began to assault my system at a relentless pace, beating me to whatever potential escape effort I had in mind. A sudden weakness rolled through me. "What…?" My body instantly felt like heavy lead and my limbs were like noodles. Before I could gather myself together and try to pull off a last-ditch effort at escaping, I involuntarily fell to the ground, unable to stay in the air, my right foot clipping the edge of a trashcan on the way and spilling its contents with a loud crash. Staggering backwards, my knees buckled as soon as I hit the asphalt for the second time in less than a minute.

"Jack, it's working," Mom exclaimed eagerly.

"I know, Mads, this is great!"

What… was working? I knew I should have been seriously freaking out, but my mind failed to process anything useful. I had to concentrate solely on sucking in gulps of air while I merely lied there on the ground, feeling the weakness grow into a strong desire to pass out.

Vaguely, I heard my parents step forward.

"No… stay… 'way from me," I slurred, grasping the last shreds of my mind and feebly trying to scoot back. The world grew distant and fuzzy as my vision blurred, and my eyes began to close.

The last thing I remembered was a haze of blue and orange confidently stalking forward, someone's hand reaching down slowly to grab me, and then everything sank into the quiet folds of blackness.

* * *

The crawl back to consciousness was a slow, hazy affair. Being knocked out isn't fun; I should know that from multiple personal experiences. Being forced into a drug-induced unconsciousness by your own _parents_, on the other hand, is exponentially worse. Of course, I was in no state to wonder what their reasons were behind drugging me rather than just shooting at me on sight like they always did – the very first thing I noticed when coming around was a splitting headache and a strange weak sensation fluttering in my stomach.

"_Wha…?_" After a few sluggish seconds, the quiet beeping and whirring of what sounded like machines reached my ears, only adding to the steady pounding in my brain, making it feel as if nails were being driven into my skull. With a quiet moan, I squeezed my closed eyes together and tried to lift a hand to press against my head in an attempt to relieve the pain. It took a few more seconds for me to realize my hands wouldn't budge, even though I could feel the muscles twitch and try to jerk upwards.

That was when the back of my mind vaguely realized something was wrong. My eyes blearily fluttered open. I was met with the view of a solid gray, metal ceiling. That didn't offer much in my weak attempt to try and figure out where I was, but then I noticed the familiar, acrid scent of ectoplasm that wafted through my nose and assaulted my senses. There was another tinge to the smell.

Fudge.

I was in the lab.

Grimacing from the movement, I turned my head a fraction of a degree to glance over to my side.

I was, apparently, strapped down to an examination table.

_Oh… great,_ my brain managed to think, and I blinked my unfocused eyes a few times to gather my bearings. I was still in my ghost form – I could already tell that much just from the lack of thudding in my chest and the familiar chilly feeling that was settled within my core. Despite this lovely new predicament I was suddenly in, at least I wasn't human at the moment. Which meant that my parents hadn't discovered me for what I really was. That was good.

But that left the foreboding question of _why_ I was even here in the first place. Somewhere underneath all of the temporary confusion, a small trickle of dread seeped into a corner of my mind at the beginnings of several possible reasons as to why I was down here. I had a sinking feeling that this wouldn't end well.

Giving a weak attempt to shift from the uncomfortable position I was in – with little luck – I lifted the back of my head a few inches off the hard surface I was laying on to take in my surroundings. My eyes darted frantically from one side to the other, catching sight of a bunch of familiar machines and counters. Fear shot down my spine. A wide variety of silver, _sharp_ tools, knives, and other surgical-looking instruments were arranged neatly across one of the tables that rested to my right, and I couldn't stop the automatic shudder that ran through me. They looked painful and their purpose wasn't exactly hard to guess.

Grunting with effort, I automatically tried pulling against the cuffs that held my wrists and ankles down. I struggled and flailed and yanked as hard as I could, gritting my teeth and wild panic threatened to grasp at my brain. "Damn it, _damn it,_ come on!"

As predicted, they didn't move. The fact that they were glowing implied trying to intangibly phase my way out of this mess would be just as futile.

_Well,_ I mused darkly,_ at least this'll certainly make for an interesting evening… or is it night time? How long have I been out?_

I let my head drop back down onto the metal table with a soft _thump_ and closed my green eyes again, struggling to breathe normally despite the cold fear that began to slowly envelope my body.

_Alright, Fenton, just… just calm down. Think, _I told myself. I was in the lab. I was tied down to a table. My parents were probably going to do god-knows what to me and I had no way of figuring out how to get out of here. Just _great_.

My thoughts were interrupted by a pair of familiar voices, and I froze. They were speaking in quiet, hushed tones, as if their conversation wasn't meant for me to hear.

"…could just keep him drugged constantly. We'd made enough supply of the spectral sedative to keep him out of it for at least a couple days – that'll be plenty of time for me to finish the last touches on the lab's ghost containment shield… and figure out what the heck is up with the test results we got back."

"I don't know," a woman's voice spoke up, and I instantly recognized it as my mother's. "What if the generator just shorts out again like last time?"

"Aww, c'mon, Mads! You know I'll be able to get that baby going by tomorrow morning, at least."

A soft chuckle. "Alright. The drug and anti-ghost cuffs should manage, for now. At least we won't need to worry about him going anywhere."

"Speaking of Phantom, wonder if he's still unconscious."

"Probably, but I'll go check on him. It's been a couple of hours now."

There was the sound of quiet footsteps – they paused for a second, and then grew louder. "Jack, he's awake!"

My still-fuzzy mind was instantly brought back to reality as I jerked my head up. What truly gave way to a sinking feeling of dread that made my insides clench was seeing my mother walking toward me, her expression contrasting greatly against the seemingly happy tone she'd had just seconds before with Dad. She looked… furious?

I blinked a few times to try and get rid of the lingering dizziness before I found my voice. "L-let me go!" I blurted, jumping straight to the chase, automatically yanking against the glowing straps that held me down.

She ignored me. "You," she said acidly, getting straight to the point, sticking a finger in my face as she arrived at my side. "Explain."

I couldn't stop the small wince that passed through me at the razor-sharp accusation in her voice, the same kind of tone she used when I was in serious trouble as her son. My eyes widened for a moment – had they figured it all out while I was under? What the _hell_ was going on?

"Explain _what?_ Wh-what are you talking about?" I rasped in response, my voice trembling a little despite the conscious effort I made to try and keep it from doing so.

Ignoring my demand for now, Mom crossed her arms together while Dad joined her by the examination table, her forehead behind her hood scrunching up a little in thought. For a few seconds I didn't dare breathe, the clawing tension in the air so thick it was almost tangible. She was either debating on just how to rip me apart, or brewing up some seriously personal questions. Neither sounded appealing.

Finally she turned her back to me, rummaging around for something on one of the tables that loomed above my side. "Nothing about you makes sense," she muttered, though to me or to herself I couldn't tell.

"I don't care what I am to you; I'm not _letting_ you get your hands on me," I said angrily as I jerked against the restraints again, feeling a flare of defiance replace, for now, the raw panic that dictated most of my thoughts. "Why am I here? What the hell did you do to me?"

In hindsight, snapping at her probably wasn't the smartest idea.

Mom's closed fist suddenly slammed down onto some sort of button on the side of the examination table, and a split second later my back arched violently off the hard surface as white-hot blasts of pain tore through my nerves. I couldn't stop the startled and pained scream from leaving my dry mouth; my eyes were squeezed so tightly together that it hurt, but that little discomfort was nothing compared to the waves of searing electricity that assaulted every atom in my body from the metal cuffs that strapped me down.

The pain seemed to last for hours. Then, seconds after it'd started, the shock died down to a cold ache that pulsed throughout every inch of skin as I collapsed limply back onto the table, spluttering and coughing in a fight for air. A few more seconds passed before I managed to crack my green eyes open and glare at both of my parents, breathing heavily.

"_We'll_ be asking the questions here, Phantom," my dad said, his voice reprimanding, but soft.

There was a soft, rubbery snap by my mother's hands before she leaned in closer to me. I weakly tried to shy away from her, but to no avail.

"Explain, ghost, why and how the simplest tests we ran just an hour ago while you were unconscious managed to disprove more than twenty _years_ of research, data, theories and solid conclusions… What _are_ you? What… makes you tick?" Through the harsh fluorescent lights reflecting off her red goggles, I could see her eyes harden with more, unspoken questions. "You look like a ghost. You act like a ghost. You have the same powers as a ghost, and yet…" Mom sighed, looking frustrated. "You should, by all means, _be_ a ghost. But if our results are right… you _shouldn't_."

Shuddering from both the lingering pain and her accusations, I managed to swallow the rock-hard lump that had formed in my throat. Part of me really wanted to know what 'results' she was referring to while the rest had no desire to even guess. I hadn't even said anything over the last supposed hour and already they knew way too much.

"P-Please…" I whispered, averting my eyes from them, my arms beginning to tremble, "Just let me go. Please."

Neither of my parents acknowledged my plea, but the confused, curious-turned-eager look on their faces wasn't hard to give away their intentions. I knew what they were going to do even before the thin latex gloves covering her hands came into view. It sent a nauseating pit of fear into my stomach that'd managed to slice its way past the haze of pain that coated my mind, every ounce of my being locked onto the one thing I'd been fearing for the last year and a half.

I, the enigmatic ghost kid, was here to play 'lab rat'.


	2. Part Two: Lab Rat

_*edited 7/9/10*_

* * *

**Lab Rat**

By: AnneriaWings

* * *

"_Please_."

The lab was quiet after my latest plea, save for the faint humming of the nearby machines and the slight buzz that ran through the cuffs around my limbs. Also silent were my parents, until my father absently replied, his tone reflecting the thick tension that still clung to the air.

"Not anytime soon, Phantom; sorry." I craned my head up to see him fiddling with one of the machines by my table, his back turned.

I could tell from his tone of voice that he really _wasn't _sorry. He was triumphant, delighted! Here he was – the great Jack Fenton – with Amity's most famous ghost in his clutches. He'd finally be able to stick his fingers into me and there was nothing I could do to stop him and no one to help me. Pity was probably the last thing on my dad's mind.

I let my green eyes flick upwards to my mother. She'd been completely silent in the few minutes that had passed since her little tirade earlier. Any indication of her thoughts settled in the form of her eyes rolling slowly across my form, studying my every movement. Up, down, side to side. She was scrutinizing every detail about me, probably making mental notes here and there, gathering millions of little questions in her head and filing them away for later. I was disproving everything she'd ever theorized about ghosts just by _existing_. She was definitely thinking – I just had no idea _what_.

And it scared me. I could feel the remnants of cool puffs of exhaled air while she leaned in just a little closer, placing her gloved hands on the side of the table, her eyes now visible in a hard, concentrated glare. Her jaw was set stiffly, tongue moving once along the inside of her cheek in thought. Personal bubble, much?

_What are _you_ staring at?_ I half-wanted to ask. But I wasn't stupid. That'd just be asking to be electrocuted again.

Wincing and trying to twist away from her (which was completely unsuccessful, given the circumstances), I quickly moved my gaze down to the tips of my white boots, trying so hard not to let our eyes meet. This was one of the few times both of my parents had actually gotten a really up-close look at me. Scraping away every opportunity to avoid my mother having the chance to connect my appearance to that of her son's was precious right now – just as much as getting out of here alive. Or… half-alive, if it went down to specifics.

I shifted uncomfortably under her stare, struggling to breathe normally. My father continued to tinker with equipment that would record and analyze god-knows-what about me. _Breathe. Right now they don't know anything and you haven't been torn apart yet_, I scolded, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath above the fierce pain that continued to linger in my bones. I needed to get a good, solid grip on logic, try to figure this out, find a way to escape…

Ever so slightly lifting my head, I let my eyes drift across the lab. I was searching for something – anything – that could give me some answers, and after a minute or so of dead silence and my mind doing nothing but running around in pointless circles, I gave up. Physically, I was screwed. Those spectral energy-blocking restraints weren't going to budge no matter how hard I tried to break free. To add that insult to injury, I doubted Sam or Tuck had any idea I was down here, and with a dread-inducing jolt, I remembered that Jazz was off at the library for some late-night study session thing. It was just Phantom… and my parents.

In other words, I was still screwed.

(_Screwed, screwed, screwed. You're gonna die; Dad's actually gonna live up to his goal of ripping—_)

_No, no, just get a grip and breathe. Focus. _Gritting my teeth with corporeal reluctance, I managed to overcome most of the crazier fear-sodden thoughts and shove them to the very back of my mind.

I could try persuading them letting me go…

(_You're insane, that's what you are; you'd have a better chance of relying on freaking _Plasmius_ to get you out of this mess than Mom and Dad believing you_)

"Umm… Y'know, guys," I began hesitantly, actually biting my lip to force the nagging, panicked voice in the back of my head to shut up, "I'm all for love of science and whatnot – that's great, but ripping me apart isn't—"

Mom's gloved hand was a blur and I heard that button being jammed into the side of the table again. The metal manacles that held me down suddenly fizzled and sparked to life, and pain instantly exploded inside my body once more. I involuntarily jerked out a surprised scream, squeezing my eyes shut and feeling every watt of electricity tearing through my nerves like a hot, rusty knife—

And then it was over. Over as soon as it had begun. My muscles still trembling, I let out a weak, shuddered moan, panting heavily through the lingering sparks of electricity snapping across my body.

(…_I told ya so_)

I felt a hard finger jab into my chest… but I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes to see whose.

"_Don't_ think you can just con your way into getting out of this, Phantom, like you've done to nearly every one of our city's citizens," my mother's voice growled caustically, punctuating her statement with another poke, and I tried to cringe away. "We're not some naive child you can deceive into believing you _actually _have good-hearted intentions."

I squinted my watering eyes open, blinking to clear my vision. I gazed up into the cool eyes of my mother and noted the spark of true hatred for what I was – and for a brief moment, a thought flickered across my mind that I should tell them… to just get it over with. They might willingly taunt and torture a ghost, yeah, but… surely… their own _son_…

I bit my tongue. What the hell was wrong with me. I could hold out until they took a break or until Jazz got home; it hadn't come to that yet. For now, the 'what if's could be dwelled on later. Bringing myself out of my own thoughts. I coughed harshly. "Wh-what the hell're you talking about?" I rasped. "For Christ's sake, I'm _not evil,_ for the millionth time—"

This time my father was the one to respond. "Please, you glob of rotting, protoplasmic slime, listen to yourself. You've cost this city thousands of dollars in repair damage alone – not to mention all of those times you'd stolen from—"

"If you're talking about those robbery incidents _almost a freaking year ago_, that wasn't me," I blurted with a sudden flash of irritation, and then grimaced. "Well – yeah, it was me, b-but it's not what you think; I—"

"Oh? It's not?" Dad asked, his question as sharp and cold as ice. "Then, by all means, explain. Maddie and I are all ears."

I wanted to explain. I really did. _(No, you don't. This is just an open invitation to dig a hole and right now, you're already up to your neck in it!_) Glancing off to the side, still struggling to breathe normally, I hesitated for a few seconds as my mind argued with itself. I'd basically just _invited_ myself to be _interrogated… _but then again, how bad could it be? Hell, at least give me a chance to clear my name…

"I… was being controlled when all of that burglary stuff happened," I said to Dad after a moment, "by this creepy, anemic circus guy who's in prison right now."

"What about the time you attacked Montez?"

"Framed. Set up by another ghost with some pretty serious grudge issues."

Dad snorted. "It sure didn't seem like you were being set up when you deliberately _shot at my wife and I!_"

I winced at the sharp mordancy of his voice, then moved my gaze away from both of my parents. "I didn't mean to; it was an… accident," I mumbled quietly. "I thought you two were being overshadowed by other ghosts."

"Well, _obviously_, you were wrong."

"Yes, I was… and I'm sorry," I admitted, closing my eyes.

"No, you're not." He accused, breaking me from my drifting thoughts. "You're a ghost. You can't feel remorse."

I groaned aloud – not only at the pent-up frustration that was building by the second, but by the fact that Dad was, theoretically, right. I wasn't supposed to feel sorry. Hell, I wasn't supposed to feel _anything_, for that matter. I was just making them more and more curious, and that was not good.

"Then there was the time when you stole our ecto-skeleton during that massive ghost invasion last year," my father continued, breaking me away from my drifting thoughts.

I opened my eyes and raised a brow. "If either one of you had used it, you wouldn't be standing here over me right now!" I snapped. "You guys had even said so yourselves that it could be fatal. That suit would have drained all of your energy and you would have _died_. I'm just lucky the thing didn't flat-out kill me, either."

Through all of this I never noticed how silent my mother was, until now, when she said in a low voice, "But ghosts can't die."

_Crap…_

The statement hung in the air for a moment, my parents sharing a puzzled glance before fixing their attention back to me, while I was frozen in place. Their eyes swirled with dozens of unspoken questions that made my stomach roll, panic threatening to seep back in through that mental barrier despite how hard I tried to repress it. I licked my lips once and fought to control my breathing before blindly rushing head-first into an explanation.

"Th-that's… that's n-not what I meant," I feverishly backpedaled, my arms automatically yanking against their stupid restraints. "I meant, er, that I wouldn't literally, you know, _die_, but just… uhh… disappear?"

_Stupid... Stupid. _What the hell _was_ that? The lie sounded ridiculously feeble even to me, but to my parents… How painfully obvious could I get? Internally, I was beating myself up in a way even resident school bully Dash would be proud of. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

Mom's face all but shouted pure skepticism. She seemed to consider something for a moment, and then turned around to pull over a stool. She sat down in it on my right side and I had to strain my head up from this angle to see her better. "Well then, while we're on the subject, how exactly _did_ you die, Phantom?" She asked, and for some reason her voice wasn't nearly as acidic as before.

I swallowed. _Ah, jeez. _"Do I really have to answer that question?"

"We're just curious," my father said.

"Alright, alright," I sighed, trailing my gaze up to the ceiling. "It… was an accident."

"An accident?" Mom furrowed her eyebrows. "What happened?"

"I was… electrocuted," I said carefully, in a concerted effort to keep my voice level. Technically it wasn't a lie, right?

"When?"

"Uhh… about a year and a half ago" I bit the inside of my cheek, instantly regretting saying that. _You're already up to your neck in this hole_, my mind berated. _Common sense says you should have just stayed quiet – but _no_. You just _had_ to get out that shovel and keep digging…_

Mom was silent for a moment, hesitating. "Did it… hurt?"

I glanced over at her blue-suited form and blinked, caught off-guard. What was I supposed to say? According to their supposed perfectly logical and solid ghost theories, was I supposed to remember something like that?

Finally I looked back up at the ceiling. "Yeah," I said quietly, "it hurt. A lot."

Mom stared down at her crossed arms, at the white latex gloves she wore on her hands. "I'm sorry," she said (…_Huh?_), her face softening a little. It was weird. Almost… maternal.

"…Uhh… Mads…" Dad began.

"Why do you even care?" I said to her, glaring a little. "I'm just some pathetic gob of ectoplasm to you, remember?" On the inside was a completely different demeanor, though. I was scared and frustrated from the questions they were grilling me with. I _didn't_ want to be tied down and cross-examined like a murder suspect and very well about to be cut open like a frog in Bio class, and, not to mention, I _didn't_ have any idea what my parents were thinking.

I think Dad was about to speak again, but Mom briskly stood up from the stool and pushed it back, cutting into the air with an ominous scraping sound. "Just because we're scientists does not mean we don't feel sympathy," she said coolly, her expression hardening. "I'm sorry you died, Phantom; I'm sorry that it hurt. However, you're a ghost now. Strange as you are, having no other explanation, you _have _to be a ghost. And ghosts are what we study."

I didn't like where this was going.

"You already know enough," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

My mom shook her head. "You see, that's the thing – we _don't_. You're an ectoplasmic anomaly. There's so much we don't know about you." She gave a slight sigh of impatience. "The tests we ran while you were unconscious only gave way to more questions than answers."

"Such as the fact that you even bother to breathe," Dad said, nodding his head down at my chest. My breath nearly hitched in my throat, ironically, on cue at his words. "The question is, _why? _Ectoplasm is obviously what keeps your spectral self stabilized and intact; you don't need to breathe, you don't have lungs for breathing, and you don't have blood cells containing hemoglobin that require oxygen to be carried to living tissue." He narrowed his eyes. "In addition, looking over the fact that your inner core is a normal thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit, the rest of your temperature on average – according to our equipment – is a little over seventy… That's _beyond _hypothermic for a human, but for a ghost…" He scrunched up his forehead. "It's just too warm."

"But—"

"According to our theories, you shouldn't even _exist, _Phantom. There's no explanation as to why you are the way you are," Mom said. "We're going to find out why."

The wash of fear I'd worked so hard to block was now slowly beginning to spill over its barrier, clawing and coiling in my chest. My expression hardened a little in a glower, but it was a meek attempt at trying to cover up my growing anxiety with a less-than-convincing mask of bravado. "Well, maybe you should just leave it at that and walk away," I countered. "Maybe I don't _want_ you to find out anything else."

My father gave a short laugh, of all things. "Hah! As if you have a choice."

At these words, Dad turned his back to me to place something in a tray beside him, and I caught sight of a small flash of metal in his hand, tapered and slim. A strangled gasp left my throat and ice settled in my stomach.

Scalpel.

"Oh no, you keep that thing away from me!" I warned, feeling nothing short of pure fear and panic. This was bad… this was very bad. Raw horror was definitely now evident in my huge, green eyes. My human heart would have been sprinting wildly by now. "Wh-_why?_"

Through that miasma of terror, I hadn't noticed at first a slight tugging sensation by my chest. My eyes had been glued and locked in place to the small set of various instruments Dad placed on the metal tray, in view, by the table's side. Only then did I tear my gaze away and look down to see Mom gingerly cutting away at my jumpsuit with a pair of sturdy medical scissors. The thick, black material easily cut loose, revealing paler-than-normal skin and the soft, ever-present glow my ghost form wore.

"Because, ghost," Dad finally answered, as Mom still concentrated on cutting away a large portion of my suit, "as we've already said, this is for our love of paranormal science. You're dead. You shouldn't even care."

_No! Technically I'm only _half! I wanted so badly to scream, and the breath that would allow me to do just that began to zip up into my throat before it came to a screeching halt.

I was torn at a crossroads. _You've got to do something, now, _my mind shrieked, but as much as I so badly wanted to tell them, I had to hesitate and think for a moment. Was it even worth it? Would telling them make any difference? My parents were seriously about to hurt me. Either I could spill _everything_ – more than an entire year of secrets and lies and betrayal – and pray they'd believe and accept it, or stay quiet as I was tortured to death.

"B-But… but… You can't – oh god, oh god, _no_," I mumbled finally, my thoughts so soaked in terror that I couldn't even speak. It was suddenly hard to breathe. A large patch of skin – practically my entire upper torso – was exposed as my mother set down the scissors.

"He seems to be giving off a very complex show of fear," she said with a puzzled look, pausing for a moment just to look at me with a sudden uncertainty. "Jack, what if… what if…" She trailed off.

Dad looked up at her. "What if it's real?" He finished softly for her. He looked at me closely, studying my sporadic, struggling movements, and then chuckled in his usual booming voice. "Nah, that's impossible, Maddie. He can't feel emotions. He's trying to fool us." He shifted his gaze to Mom and smiled gently. "Don't let him get to you, dear."

I jerked my head up, giving a crazed, terrified glare to both of them. "What the—? Of _course_ I can feel!" I shrieked. "And I sure as hell am feeling right now!"

Glancing back at me and furrowing his brows for a moment, Dad shook his head at my outburst and looked at my mother. "Or if not simply as part of an act," he told her, "he could be taking a certain memory of something sentiment – fear, in this case – and is imposing it on this particular situation. He must have some memory of the time before he died, right?"

Mom shrugged with a troubled sigh, but the corners of her mouth upturned. "Of course. You're right, I… just kind of lost it there for a sec, I guess."

He grinned at her in response, his wife's uncertainty forgotten completely, his face glowing with enthusiasm. "So," he began, snapping on a pair of white rubber gloves himself, "Can I do the slicing and dicing?"

She chuckled. "Actually, Jack, I think you'd better leave the sharp objects to me, this time. You'd said you'd record his stats and all other data on our experiments, remember?"

"Hmph," he whined, giving that typical, dramatic pouting look that was so Dad-like. It would have been comical, but given the dire situation, it wasn't funny in the least.

"Jack, pass me the second scalpel to the left, would you?"

"This one?"

"No, dear, your other left," she smiled.

"Oh. Here you go."

I was definitely feeling sick now, with paralyzing fear twisting itself so violently in my stomach I wanted to throw up. Pain was coming; every cell within me knew it, and the worst part of it all was that I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Razor-sharp blade in hand – no doubt coated by some sort of chemical so it wouldn't just pass through my body – my mother loomed over me, the harsh glare of the artificial fluorescent lights reflecting off her goggles in many hues of red. They gleamed on her face like the bloody eyes of a curious monster, or alien, or some other creature that was hell-bent on cutting up my insides.

Somehow through that hollow pit of ice-cold fear in my chest, I imagined those scenes where ordinary people from the city are strapped down to stainless steel operating tables like this one, being probed by aliens. You know, from the movies.

_Probed by aliens,_ I wryly thought, almost laughing crazily at the notion, _It's kinda like I'm being probed by aliens._

(_You're growing delirious_)

Dad drifted over, a clipboard in hand. He looked up at his wife and beamed across the table. "Ready when you are."

(_They're not aliens they're your parents_)

Mom glanced over at him and smiled.

(_Your goddamn parents_)

She carefully lowered the scalpel to my skin.

"W-WaitwaitWAIT! No! Stop, _stop!_" I shrieked, shuddering at the blade's cold touch. My human heart would have been racing at a hundred miles an hour as I lunged to the side, nearly hyperventilating, focusing all of my panic on the sheer desire to break free. Eyes most certainly skewed shut, I instinctively cringed away from the knife, not really caring that it led me closer to my father. "No, no, for the love of God, sto—"

"Ghost, _enough_ with the drama," I heard Dad chide, probably rolling his eyes in the process, "You're not fooling anyone anytime soon. We know it's an act."

I gave a loud grunt as I desperately jerked and twisted and heaved my body to the side, completely focused on breaking free. Through my nauseous panic, the back of my mind registered the dull _creak_s and rattles the table made when I gave a particularly hard yank. Mom noticed this – she drew the scalpel back in one swift, fluid movement before it could slice open my skin.

"Jack," I heard her say – my eyes were still squeezed shut so I didn't really have any idea of what was going on – "I think he could use a mild dose of the sedative – 4 milliliters. He needs to hold still and he's struggling too much."

_They're your freaking _parents, I was offered again.

I opened my eyes to shoot a bitter glare at my mother. (_Your own mother_) "What else would you expect?" I yelled. "I've been kidnapped and now I'm tied down to a freaking _operating table_. Of _course_ I'm going to struggle." I tried to curl my words into acid, but my voice had easily cracked. Neither of them acknowledged me.

(_They love you_)

No. No, they loved _Fenton._ _Phantom_ on the other hand was nothing more than a valuable experiment. A husk of the living. A dead, unfeeling creature. A ghost.

I could feel my face turn deathly pale as Dad raised a large, _painful_-looking needle into view, allowing the bright indoor lights to catch it and reflect the greenish substance inside. My parents were going to deliberately _kill_ me. Endless thoughts whirled around in my head with no real direction in mind as I mumbled a shaky, "No, nononono…"

(_They love you so tell them; just tell them who you are_)

"Stop—_NO!_"

"Jack, help me hold him down!"

(_Tell them or you'll die_)

"_Oomph!"_ My view was blocked my a massive wall of orange and black as Dad firmly shoved his hand and half of his arm down onto my chest, preventing me from doing much more than shaking my head back and forth. It also restricted what little oxygen I managed to take in with each rapid, shallow breath, and I gave a harsh, choking cough in response as he practically suffocated me. Only panic wove through my nerves as I continued to whisper a desperate mantra of 'no's and 'please's.

(_Tell them_)

A small sting erupted on my right arm as I felt the needle plunging into my skin. Wincing a little, I tried once more to move against the weight pressing down on my chest, only to earn a painful electrical zap from the cuffs and a hard shove from my father's hand.

(_TELL THEM._)

"Mom, Dad, _no!_"

Everything seemed to freeze at that one instant. The pinch of the needle slowly died and Dad's hand lifted hesitantly from my struggling form. My eyes darted frantically from parent to parent, their faces simultaneously turning from that of shock, then confusion, then slowly to seething anger as the meaning behind the outburst dawned on them.

"_Please_. Don't do this," I whispered.

Mom was the first to react. A loud _smack_ split the air as she backhanded me across the side of my face. I flinched and tried to recoil away.

"How… _dare_ you," she growled, "You think you can go around lying your way into the hearts of our citizens, but also have the audacity to try and fool us into believing that… we're… that we're experimenting on _our own child? _That's… You're disgusting."

"Mom – no, listen! It's me! I'm your son, D—"

She smacked me again. Hard. So hard that my neck snapped to the side on impact, a sharp gasp of pain leaving my throat. I could literally feel the sting of her handprint on my cheek.

"Don't call me that. You're _evil._ _You're _a _ghost_. A lying, disgusting _monster_. And you are most certainly _not _our son."

I shook my head slowly. "But… but…" I was frozen, failing to process the tiniest look of disbelief and fear flashed across my mother's face, if only for a millisecond. I kept gazing in that one spot where her eyes were even after she moved away. "But…" I whispered again, but they made no acknowledgement of hearing me. "I can show you…"

…They didn't believe me.

Dad looked up at her and offered a puzzled albeit consoling smile. "Let's just get started, Mads," he said softly.

…they didn't believe me…

My mind was numb. Despite her icy tone wavering just a little bit, Mom's words cut deeper than they should have, so much deeper. That tiny glimmer of hope that maybe – just maybe, they'd accept me, this, _everything_ – was swept away as if it'd never existed. My entire life crashed down before my very eyes, the blunt, ugly truth shattering my heart like cold glass.

They would never accept this.

A lump of what could only be tears unconsciously crept to my throat as I struggled to spill everything. "P-please, Mom, I-I'm…" And I sincerely was about to, right then and there – when I was hit with a vaguely familiar sense of laxness, the injection's contents already wreaking havoc on my system. Everything seemed to slow down. The room began to spin a little and I blinked a few times, the lights around the lab seeming brighter and blurred. I opened my mouth again in a last-ditch effort to speak again, but the words died in my throat.

Previous crazed, terror-driven thoughts were slowly scrambled and twisted into a jumble of incoherence as the chemical blasted through my head, forcibly snuffing out even the tiniest bit of remaining desire to escape. My once-tense and shuddering form fell limp and mostly unmoving save for the steady _in, out, in, out_ of my breathing. Mom and Dad's teal and orange forms blurred together until they were mere silhouettes, details obscured into near-blackness by the blinding lights overhead.

Then the closest idea to what could only be _you've got to show them NOW _flashed across my mind. Struggling through my drug-induced daze, I desperately reached inside myself to draw out that tiny speck of heavy warmth, the only proof I had left.

There was nothing there.

_Nonono, it's there; find it_, I thought. Panic would have surely taken over once more, but the tranquilizer tossed aside such an intense emotion into the 'I'll deal with this later' category. I closed my eyes and searched again. Somewhere I might have reached it, even tried to summon it to the outside world, but the attempt was weak and futile. It was like grasping at water, the transformation lying just beneath the surface. Having no other alternative I gave up, succumbing to the increasing weight of fatigue that pressed down on me. I could only watch as my last desperate attempt at turning human slipped right through my mental fingers, and then disappeared.

"…_think he's ready."_

I blearily opened my eyes again to brightness and the sound of voices muttering a string of muffled, disjointed words. They spoke as if from underwater. Everything was so unfocused and _bright_; it swam in a sea of confusion and calm. It was almost… peaceful.

"…_still trying to move… you gave him is working, though… hold him down?"_

Glancing sluggishly up at the ceiling, I slowly tried to twist myself to the side and upwards to get a better grip on things (_what exactly are you trying to grip?_), but felt someone – or something – gently press my head back onto a hard, metal surface in an effort to keep me still. Wait – metal? Stainless steel, to be more precise, as my eyes calmly flicked down for a closer inspection. Huh, weird. Was I in a hospital or something?

Pain suddenly exploded _everywhere_.

My eyes snapped open with a gasp only to squeeze back shut again. Jerked from my curious stupor, my body reeled up against the fetters holding me down, tensing violently against the sudden onslaught of razor-sharp, burning, _pain_ that tore through my nerves. I weakly tried to open my mouth for a scream, but couldn't find the command to do so. Jagged slices of white-hot agony all but ripped through my insides. It locked me both physically and mentally in place like a vice, allowing no room for a struggle, or even the tiniest verbal protest.

Somehow, after an eternity of laying there rigid and trying to writhe, I was able to stumble through my scrambled awareness and pin-point the spot where the pain was strongest. On my torso – just above my ribcage – something hot and cold and _sharp_ sliced down into my skin. I felt a weird oozing sensation in the wake of the (_knife? blade?_) source. It dribbled down my side and collected on the steel underneath me.

I winced at the feeling of flesh being pulled back, of bone being snapped. _Either sternum or ribs, _my mind unhelpfully said, but I was unable to process the thought or meaning. The agony split through my entire body and I so _badly_ wanted to scream. Thoughts barely coherent, my insides felt like they were being frozen and boiled at the same time, along with a definite sense of _wrongness_ at the hand that poked and prodded around towards my spectral core. A strange stench filled the air… with a sense of horror, I tried to blanch. Something was _eating _at my skin.

The voices muttered and murmured again at the same time a loud, strange noise split the air – a ragged screeching of some sort. Excitement and a sense of morbid curiosity swelled over the piercing sound.

"…_actually has a solid, bone-like skeletal structure underneath… gonna try to get a sample of this."_

"…_exciting, Mads!… discovery. Front page of journals and magazines for sure."_

"…_reaction to the chemical compounds on these scalpels… amazing."_

Then I remembered. With it, a shocking recognition that the tortured cry filling my ears was my own. I vaguely felt a series of new stings on my arm of what could only be more needles doing god-knows-what to me, but it wasn't a big distinction from the rest of the pain that attacked my body. The world had been trapped in place, any sense of passing time consumed by absolute agony. It ripped and clawed and screamed through every nerve. It was never-ending, refusing to cease even for just _one_ merciful respite; the excruciating, unbearable torture went on as fresh as it had begun. My entire body tensed in a hopeless attempt to escape it as I threw my head back onto the table, fists clenching and unclenching, a choking sob catching itself in my throat.

Fighting to regain control of anything coherent, the too-vivid realization, _they're doing this because they _want_ to,_ settled heavily back down on my shoulders for the second time tonight, adding to the utter misery that wrapped itself around my form. It was futile. Useless. Everything was useless. What was the point of telling them if it'd only come back to _this?_

Any boundaries I'd held between physical and mental suffering blended together into one relentless, endless agony. I was going to die. I was surely, definitely, going to die. I couldn't scrounge up enough energy to care, though, because only pain was left. Pain was all I was.

"_Jack… Phantom – is he _crying?_"_

"_He… I think he is."_

The quiet murmurs grew softer as I became aware of a flood of warm tears streaming down my cheeks and the short, gasping breaths that shuddered with my jerking body. Everything suddenly slammed into focus once more as the knife twisted and dug deeper into my flesh. My eyes flew open for a split second and I felt myself lunge back out of instinct and panic, my wrists and ankles pulling desperately at their restraints, the strength needed for speaking just barely out of my reach.

I couldn't endure this for much longer; _this_ was already going way beyond my mental and physical limits and there was nothing I could do. All I wanted was for it to stop. For everything to end, now – in any way possible… just make it stop. Because nothing… _nothing…_ was worth this.

_Stop,_ I begged, trying to get the simple word out into the open like it was the last thing I had, but all that left my throat was another strangled, dry sob.

_Please… just make it stop…_

One of the voices – my mother's, I could tell – wavered, suddenly full of true worry. "This… Jack, I-I think we need to stop. He's crying, hyperventilating…"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I think… I think this is real for him." The worry in Mom's voice gradually turned to traces of doubt, some sympathy, but mainly a growing sense of dismay.

There was a quiet snort of disbelief. "Mads, come on, let's be realistic. You know he's evil. He can't feel; it's not… real…"

"…What's that light at his stomach?"

Through the soft, nearly incoherent voices that swirled around me, through the haze of unbearable exhaustion and pain, I vaguely noticed a slightly cold, tingling sensation near my abdomen where the serrated, rusty daggers of agony were the strongest. It grew and extended throughout me, a familiar energy that swept through both body and mind. My body involuntarily transformed back over the line between life and death – its instinctive, last desperate attempt for survival.

My eyes were still glued shut. I thought I heard a gasp or two, the voices halted in stunned silence. Warmth and life pulsed in synch with the pain that increased tenfold. My voice curling into a weak, rasping moan, I tried to twist myself to the side – slipping in a pool of my own icy ectoplasm and what was now undoubtedly red, warm blood. Its coppery smell assaulted my nostrils, throwing everything out of order again.

My wheezy cries slowly fell silent. Just lying there, panting, I heard a ringing clatter of what were probably tools dropping to the floor.

"…_Danny?_" somebody whispered.

The pain began to numb. Sweet, heavenly relief flooded through me – only because it brought the prospect of finally, _finally_ falling unconscious. I would have smiled, or even laughed, if I could have. It was finally going to _stop._

I heard a pure, unadulterated scream of horror.

_Well,_ my mind scowled, _looks like they found out._

But I was too busy passing out to care.


	3. Part Three: Black Reality

**Lab Rat**

by: AnneriaWings

* * *

_Everything was black, and then white. Clouded by a sense of panic were endless thoughts of desperation racing through my head as I squinted at the two silhouetted figures looming above me, a bright glint of saw-toothed metal in each hand. Denial, frustration and sheer terror drove me to try to escape – but all was futile; the slick steel examination table refused to let me go. _No,_ I begged in my head. This was absolutely _not_ happening… not again._

"_Mom, Dad, _no!_"_

_The larger form grinned. His smile widened until he began laughing in a hearty, booming voice, absently twirling the serrated blade in his fingers. He didn't mean to do this. He didn't know. He was oblivious to what they were about to do – they both were, right?_

"_It's me! I'm your son, D—"_

"_Hah!"_

_The smaller of the two turned her gleaming, red eyes to me. Desire for something much more torturous and _slower_ than what I anticipated streaked across her calm features. Chuckling mirthlessly, her upper lip curled into a cruel sneer._

"So?"

_As that simple monosyllabic response brought the whole world crashing down, she raised her arm. Murder and torture dripped from the sickening grin splitting both of their faces, and there was nothing I could do._

_The flash of metal briefly blinded me. Mom and Dad slowly started hacking me to pieces—_

I woke with a strangled scream.

Bolting upright, the first thing my body registered – besides my pounding heart, which had leapt straight up into my throat – was a losing fight with gravity. Reeling unsteadily for a moment with a yell, I pin wheeled my arms before toppling down to my side. I landed on a hard surface at least a foot below from wherever I'd been laying with a hard _thump_.

"_Agghhoooww_." A muffled groan worked from my throat through a set of heavy gasps for oxygen, my entire body aching. "What…" Gritting my teeth and keeping my eyes clenched shut, I made no attempt to move from the uncomfortable and awkward position I'd landed on. Every inch of my head pounded and felt like someone was striking the edge of my skull with a hammer while the rest of me felt like I'd been hit by semi. The lingering flashes of the nightmare still clung to the back of my mind like a faint whisper, the edges of that small burst of adrenaline all that remained. I could feel a wave of cold sweat sliding down my forehead and neck.

But struggling to ignore it for now, I simply remained where I'd fallen for a moment, trying to adjust to the pain and allowing the remnants of the dream to fade away for the most part. _A dream_, I thought. It'd only been a dream.

_It's not real, _I told myself as I kept my eyes closed, fighting to catch my breath and calm down my racing heartbeat. _Just a dream. Not real._

Wait – heartbeat?

I blearily opened my eyes against the glare of indoor lights that slammed against my vision. Blinking a couple of times to get everything into focus, I swept my gaze across my surroundings. The dark brown swirls of a wooden coffee table were closest from my face, one of the legs squashing against my nose. At this same time I became aware of the soft carpet that pressed against my cheek. I glanced up, seeing the bottom of a long, pale sofa.

_The living room?_

I slowly sat up, struggling to free my limbs from a tangle of blankets that'd fallen off with me and wiping the thin sheet of sweat from my face. I let my eyes flick around the room for a moment, now used to brightness of all the light – there were only a couple of lamps on nearby, each one emitting a soft yellow glow that didn't quite light the entire room. I noticed that the living room windows were pitch-black behind their curtains. I glanced up at the small digital clock that rested on a nearby table. 3:43 A.M., it read.

But remembering what'd driven me to open my eyes in the first place, instinct made me lift a hand into view, and getting a glimpse of my own flesh and not a white glove satisfied at least one corner of my brain. Even so, I gently pressed a pair of fingers on the side of my throat and waited patiently for a response. Sure enough, a quick but steady pulse was there, twitching just under my skin. _Human_, I observed, _not a ghost._

But despite everything that was tentatively 'normal,' for now, there was something missing. I hadn't been human before. With each second that ticked by, the thought coalesced into something much more sensible. I'd _been_ a ghost; it was the last thing I'd remembered… I was _sure_ of it.

My eyes narrowed in thought. Something was off. Very wrong. But what was I missing here?

I rubbed my temples with a pained scowl, both in an effort to relieve my headache and to clear my jumbled thoughts. I tried to remember yesterday, my eyes set in a concentrated glare as a picture-like image of some sort of fight with Skulker slid across my brain. Then there was that weird confrontation with my mother, and then the Ops center… and those weird blob-ghost things… My parents—

_Parents._

My eyes widened as the single word snapped into my head. Suddenly a flash of unconscious fear whirled through me, freezing me in place on the carpet as I was assaulted by a flood of memories. They seemed to come out of nowhere. They were like those dramatic flashback scenes you see in movies – the kind that race around in sequence with no real detail, but they added to a big swell of emotion.

That emotion was pure, unbridled dread. An involuntary shudder wracked my sitting form, a shallow breath catching in my lungs. Memory after memory flashed by like photographs… a stinging pain in an alleyway, fuzziness, and then blackness. Waking up _down there_, in the basement lab. Watching my parents. Pleading – no, _begging_ – to be let go. A hard smack to my face, shouting and anger, more fuzziness, and then everything was _pain_.

_That was… part of the dream, wasn't it?_ I wondered in my head as my mind struggled to catch up, not realizing I was still holding my breath. Unconsciously, my hand crept up to gingerly touch the side of my face, a small corner of my mind truly questioning the other ninety-nine percent that tossed the notion aside as absurd. _Ridiculous. Impossible,_ I mentally scoffed. My parents wouldn't really…

I shuddered. Beneath my fingers, I felt the light yet obvious bruise that stretched across my cheek.

Pieces of the confusion and questions racing through me dulled and faded away to mere background noise as I froze, my brain and body beginning to run on autopilot. I carefully lowered my hand and placed it against my chest, wincing at the sharp ache that darted down over my torso. Numbly, I sat up a little straighter on the carpeted floor and used both hands to gently lift up my T-shirt. I closed my eyes for a moment, cold fear already seeping in, dreading what I would see.

Swallowing heavily, I forced myself to take a deep breath and looked down.

The world slowed to a stop.

A large, slightly bloodstained bandage snaked tightly around my abdomen. It hurt. Just by moving the wrong way, a sharp pain sliced and chewed throughout most of my upper stomach and wove deeper into my chest, just above my breastbone and down underneath my ribs. I didn't need a closer inspection to tell that, underneath all of the bandages, a large expanse of skin was swollen, bruised and still bleeding.

The small bundle of white fabric fell from my weak and unmoving hands, my breath quivering for just a split second.

_No._

That was the only thing running through my head at the moment – that simple word that meant so much more, an impossible suspicion brewing around in at least one corner of my mind. A small, humorless scoff slipped through my lips. "This is insane," I whispered aloud to no one, letting my back gently fall against the couch and closing my eyes. "It's just from some ghost fight." This was just some sort of remnant from that little nightmare, along with a very coincidental set of regular injuries. It wasn't real. My… my parents wouldn't…

_Mom and Dad did this…_

"No," I mumbled in a quiet voice. The thought had flashed across my brain before I could stop it. Pieces of an impossible, horrifying memory continued to flicker around and coalesce despite my mental protests, everything weaving together in my head until it was vivid and extremely real. "No, no, no, no."

Suddenly I heard a loud scream of fear, and my eyes snapped open. I was _there_, in the lab. I could feel the cold steel of the operating table again, the bright lights, my parents laughing, the thick smell of antiseptics and ectoplasm, the tiny glint of a needle before it—

"No!" I hissed, clenching my teeth together as the flashback/dream/whatever-it-was disappeared, vanishing into nothing like it'd never even occurred. I was _not_ going to let that kind of unconscious anxiety take over again. Breathing uneasily and crawling back up onto the couch – wincing in pain as I did so – and ignoring the tangle of blankets at my feet, I continued to shake my head slowly from side to side. I wasn't in denial because it wasn't real. That hadn't happened. That would _never_ happen. – I absolutely _refused_ to believe it… it was impossible.

Even so, I gingerly placed my hand against my abdomen, mind still numb. A wince passed through me at the pain.

_I was there._

No.

_It had happened._

No – it was a dream.

_It wasn't a dream. Mom and Dad were nearly _laughing_ with excitement at their experiments as they began to cut me to pieces._

"Shut up shut up _shut up_."

_They _wanted_ to do this. 'You're _evil. You're _a _ghost. _A monster_,_' she'd said. They… they'd meant it. Both of them—_

"Stop," I whispered, clutching the sides of my head, not realizing I'd brought my knees up to my chest even though it hurt immensely to do so. "Stop…" I said again, even quieter. Clenching fistfuls of black hair, I forced a rock-hard lump in my throat back down to where it came from, my heart pounding heavily in my ears, the physical pain in my chest excruciating, my mind working so hard to ignore the _false_ truth. "Stop it, stop it…"

"Danny?"

I sat bolt upright on the couch at the careful, quiet voice, my despair vanishing like it'd never even existed.

Holding my breath, I slowly turned my head and stared at my father.

The dim yellow glow of the lamps reflected on his huge, towering orange form. Standing in the kitchen doorway, he blinked groggily for a moment before a look of shock crossed his features. "Danny?" he repeated, clearly surprised. "You're awake?"

I simply continued to stare at him, frozen in place, my mind blank and devoid of any potential verbal response. On the inside, something was wrong. It took me a second or two to try and figure what it was, but when I did, it took all of my self-restraint to keep my body from jumping off the couch and running out of the room. A primitive little corner of my brain urgently nudged the fact that he was one of _them _– one of the two who had tied me down and cut me open _down there _last night… and my instincts screamed for me to bolt. His hazmat suit was like a giant orange warning flag waving across my face.

Remaining where I was, though, I swallowed thickly and licked my lips. Finally I managed to nod my head.

Dad looked down at his feet as thick, palpable awkward tension floated through the air. A cookie and a small glass of milk were in his hands. "I… uhh… came up here for a late night snack," he mumbled. "I didn't know you'd be up."

"I… b-bad dream," I breathed.

"Oh." He switched the cookie to his other hand and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Umm… how are… your bandages?" he asked quietly, wincing at his own words.

I let my eyes flit downwards to my stomach, where a few tiny stains of dark red bled through my thin white T-shirt. "They… hurt." The tiniest hint of anger sparked deep down inside me, underneath all of the thick dread that was slowly building by the second, but it wasn't much. I would have scowled wryly if I could find the right muscles to do so. _Duh. You tried to gut me like a fish. How else would I feel?_

Dad shifted nervously on his feet. He reached over to the counter beside him and set his forgotten snack down. "Umm… I-I should… probably look at those, see if they need to be changed," he said, his voice nearly inaudible. He cautiously began to approach me.

_("You're dead, Phantom. You shouldn't even care.")_

_NO!_ My instincts shrieked at the flash of powerful and deadly memory that instantly raced across my brain. (_Dad walking towards me, scalpel in hand, an eager look on his face.)_ With a fearful yelp, I instantly scooted back down the side of the long living room couch. A sharp series of aches bit into my injuries at the movement and I hissed in pain.

Dad froze in mid-step as I desperately tried to move away from him. A pained and stunned look crossed his face, his eyes glistening. "Danny, I—" he began, swallowing. "I need to look at your bandages."

_(We're gonna tear you apart, you filthy ghost.)_

"No," I mumbled.

_(Molecule)_

He strode forward again, hesitantly rounding the coffee table to get me. Scooting back, my eyes widened as a fresh wave of panic raced through my chest. "No, s-s-stay away from me!"

_(by molecule)_

Quick, slideshow-like bits of last night flew across my brain, rapid and unhindered, as I shivered and continued to stumble back away from my father. _Lab. Scalpels. Ectoplasm. Needle. Pain. Blood. Fear._

"Danny, please…"

"Get _away!_"

_(by molecule!)_

I couldn't restrain the terrified scream that suddenly tore from my throat as Dad reached to gently grab my arm. My balance totally thrown off for a moment, I fell back – painfully – onto the carpet as he took a small, hesitant step back.

Through the relative darkness of the family room I could see the lost look on my father's face, meek agony that marred his expression, but I was too wrapped up in my own unconscious panic to care. "Son," he said softly, backing up a little further, his voice cracking at the end, "please. You're bleeding and I… I want to help."

Very, very close to hyperventilating, I shook my head.

"Dad? What's going on?"

Both of us froze at the feminine voice. I was still in the midst of a near-panic attack, my back pressing into the floor where I'd fallen. I was having a hard time breathing, my chest heaving fast as my lungs worked to try to pull in enough oxygen out of the air. Fighting to get control of my shallow breathing, I strained my eyes through the dark over at the top of the stairs to see Jazz leaning over the railing, worry clear on her face.

"Danny?"

"Wh—Jazz?" I twisted around to glance at my dad. Pain and terror still rushed through me as I sat up a little straighter, still instinctively wanting to scoot away from him. "What…" Slowly, my common sense managed to wrap back around me and dominate over most of the irrational fear. A hint of embarrassment and guilt followed as I backpedaled. I didn't know what to say. "I…"

Jazz made her way down the stairs, sending Dad a wary but understanding look. "Dad, I… think I should take it from here," she said quietly.

My father gave a single, hesitant nod and then looked at me, still keeping his distance. Through the dim light of a nearby lamp, I could clearly see the ache in his expression and his tired eyes.

"Your… your mother isn't taking… this… well," he said slowly, voice wavering. "She hasn't left the lab since… since…" He closed his mouth, unable to finish. It wasn't necessary. All three of us already knew when he was referring to. _Since you and Mom had freaking tortured me to Hell and back._

I shifted uneasily, looking away.

"Uhh…" The awkward tension was back. "I'm just gonna… go," he mumbled, and then looked at Jazz. "He still needs his bandages changed."

As Dad slowly left the room (not before grabbing his snack) and headed back to the lab, obviously seeking escape, Jazz helped me off the floor. I numbly collapsed back on the couch, running a hand through my black hair. My side burned in protest but I tried to ignore it. I was at a loss. I didn't know what to do.

_What just happened?_ I wanted to ask. My mind was slowly shifting from a blank state to a completely confused mess – it raced with questions, churning in every direction with different emotions. My parents had stayed down on the lab? Why? What were they doing? More importantly, my brain pressed, what was going to happen next?

My thoughts were too much to handle at the moment. I needed to take a break and calm down. I decided to break the silence with the first thing that popped into my head.

"So… they know, don't they?" It wasn't really a question.

"…Yeah." My sister nodded after a moment, a strange expression on her face. "But I… still don't know how they're taking it all," she sighed. Her voice was careful, restrained to hide some sort of hidden emotion.

"Oh."

The floor suddenly looked a lot more interesting. I stared down at my feet, vaguely noticing my hands were trembling a little, and narrowed my eyes slightly as I managed to get control of myself. It was a moment before I looked up at my sister again. "Uhmm…" I began, my throat feeling unbearably tight at what I wanted to say next – but I just _had_ to know. "What… what happened down there, Jazz?" I asked. "After I… passed out, I guess."

Her face was dark as she avoided my eyes. She was quiet for a moment before speaking. "I don't know," she whispered, clenching her fingers against her lap. "I'd gotten home late tonight, around ten… I… I heard someone screaming down from the lab as soon as I walked through the door." She closed her eyes, obviously not wanting to remember. "I was running down the stairs before I'd even thought about it. I saw the… Mom and Dad were just _standing_ there, and I think it was Mom who'd screamed because you were… you were unconscious, as a human – and they'd practically ripped open your entire chest, a-and the blood…"

I couldn't speak.

"There was so much _blood_," she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. "I think Dad had already started to get you out of the… the restraints while Mom just stood there, but I'd shoved them both away… I was just screaming for them to stay away, and I had to stop all the bleeding after I got you upstairs.

"Thank god that none of the more serious injuries transferred from your ghost half. They'd… b-broken some of your ribs, I think, but the swelling was down and they'd nearly healed by the time you woke up… Your body probably just… focused all of its energy on getting over just that. And… Mom and Dad haven't left the lab since."

We were both silent for a few more long and precious seconds; the only sound heard was the ticking of the living room wall clock before Jazz spoke again. "Dad shouldn't have come up here," she mumbled. "I'd set my alarm for 6 A. M. to check your wounds and change your bandages. I guess your yelling just woke me."

I visibly cringed at the flash of memory. "…Sorry about that," I said quietly.

Her eyes suddenly hardened. "Don't be," she insisted, that odd expression slowly fading into a more familiar mask of pain, guilt, and sorrow. She bit the edge of her lip and glanced away, shoulders tensing a little. "God, Danny, I—…I'm so sorry," she finally said in a broken voice, letting out a sigh and looking on the verge of tears. "_I'm_ the one who should be apologizing."

I blinked. "Why?"

"Because none of this would have happened, if… if I hadn't been away." She chuckled morosely. "Of all times I decide to go to the library for the entire day…"

"Jazz," I began, swallowing at the threat of more unwanted memories, "it's not your fault. You didn't know…"

"But I _should_ have known."

"But you _didn't._" It was ironic – _I_ was the one trying to console _her._ The way my mind was spinning in unhelpful circles, it should have been the other way around.

"There was… nothing you could have done."

Jazz sighed tiredly. "I know, but still." She offered a small, sad smile, the very corners of her mouth quirking upwards. I couldn't return it.

"Are you still gonna change the gauze and stuff?" I asked after yet another moment of silence, remembering what Dad had said a few minutes ago.

Jazz shook her head. "I'll need to change them in a few hours. Dad was just being a little protective and paranoid. That's only a little blood showing through – not enough to be worried about – but I'm glad he was concerned." Her face twisted down into a scowl. "I just… wish he would have at least tried to apologize," she muttered darkly.

All was silent for a few seconds, her words sinking deeper than they should have. I don't know what triggered the sudden flare of emotion, but suddenly something almost audible seemed to snap within my mind. I sat up a little straighter, my eyes set in a weak glare. "What would've been the point?" I snapped. "I mean, it's not like Dad could just waltz in here and be all, 'Hey, Danny! Sorry for destroying your self-esteem and then trying to dissect you alive last night; lemme change yer bandages!'" Imitating my father's booming voice was a failed attempt, but it was about as sardonic as I could get. I didn't care how I sounded.

My sister blinked, taken aback by the scathing edge to my voice, but I ignored her as a turmoil of different emotions collided together in my heart, each one curling together into one giant black ball. Everything I'd tried to force down suddenly came into focus again – this… this wasn't something where they could just say 'sorry' and move on. They'd captured me, ripped me open, had openly stated that they despised me… but I hadn't worked hard enough to try and stop it. The whole reason it had happened was because I simply _existed._ And now, in their eyes, I was just some strange, half-ghost _thing_…

Nothing would ever be the same from this point forward.

My eyes trailed down to my bare feet as ice started to creep up into my chest. There was a swell of an almost _sickening_ realization of what they'd done to me last night and it drew a sharp, ragged gasp from my throat. Everything seemed to hit me again all at once, the memories fresh and raw. "Th-they… oh god," I whispered, a shuddering breath freezing in my lungs. I swallowed heavily while my throat felt constricted. The cold, nauseous feeling of 'I can't believe this is happening' slammed around in my head and sank into the pit of my stomach, painfully reverberating throughout me before crashing back together into my heart.

"Danny? Are… you okay?" My sister asked gently, but already knew the answer.

I opened my eyes with a deep sigh, feeling my vision blur. "No," I muttered sharply, refusing to look at her. "No, Jazz, no, I'm freaking _not okay_. I've just been tortured to near-death, Mom and Dad hate my ghost half with a burning passion, and now they're either so guilty about it or hate it so much that they won't even _talk_ to me and everything – _everything_ – is ruined and nothing is ever gonna be the same again and… and… _it's all my fault!_" I let my head collapse into my hands to cover my face, quiet tears already streaming from my eyes.

Through the chaotic mess in my head, everything boiled down to just one simple question: why?

_Why?_

"Why?" I whispered, slowly wrapping my arms around myself – which hurt – and squeezing my eyes shut. "Why did all this have to _happen?_"

I heard Jazz sit down next to me and put a consoling hand on my shoulder. "I don't know," she said quietly, obviously at a loss of what to say that would offer any help. For once she was completely silent, not having any psycho-babble or therapy-like talk to feed my seriously messed-up brain.

I would have had it in me to understand had the overwhelming anguish been absent. But there was almost nothing left, the full force of a panicked type of grief already working its way into my chest. I felt disgusting with terror and guilt as despair twisted around in my heart like black mud. Our family had been destroyed.

Jazz shifted next to me, unable to do anything as she helplessly watched me break and fall apart. She hesitantly wrapped an arm around me into a gentle half-embrace. "…I'm… sorry," she mumbled.

But I barely heard her even as I let my forehead fall onto her shoulder. Shudders shot through me with each quiet sob that wracked my body. I could feel my sister's concerned and sympathetic eyes on me, but I didn't care. My thoughts were hardly coherent enough to even remember to breathe through my tear-laden gasps, let alone feel any embarrassment as I was reduced to a broken, whimpering, _pathetic_ mess.

I continued to cry like a ridiculous child, too wrapped up in my misery to feel shame until what seemed like hours passed. Utter physical and emotional exhaustion eventually took hold, and the fact that it was nearly four in the morning did not help at all. With Jazz still quietly by my side, my eyes fluttered closed as I drifted off to sleep with one solitary thought echoing through me.

_I don't know what to do._


	4. Epilogue: Closure

**_Author's Note: _**_Four chapters. Over three thousand hits. __Sixty-four reviews; seventy-two alerts; s-seventy-four favorites... just... oh my god, I never expected this short story to get the kind of response that it did. All of you guys are freaking AWESOME, and I cyber-glomp each and every one of you for giving me the inspiration to write and continue this. THANK YOU!_

_As always, a HUGE thanks specifically goes to dragondancer123, my beta-reader, for helping and pushing me all the way to the finish line for this. Even if it's only four chapters, this thing was freaking _hard_ to write, and it never would have gotten done without her help. She's offering beta services to whoever's interested. She's awesome, guys, seriously. Go give her a treat._

_Anyway, I'm going to shut up and just post the dang thing... epilogues can be long, right? Right? Right._

_Enjoy the conclusion of Lab Rat! I hope to see you around for some of my other writings (Lost is next!)_

_-Anneria_

* * *

**Lab Rat**

by: AnneriaWings

* * *

Nineteen hours.

That's about how long had passed since _it_ had happened. Nineteen hours. Nearly an entire day.

But that was just it, though. It didn't really _feel _like a day had passed – it was way too long. Or too short. I don't know. Whichever it was, it didn't matter anymore. My sense of time was long gone… I _knew_ what time it was, thanks to the alarm clock on the little table next to the couch, but I was running entirely on autopilot. My mind was still numb; any distinction between actual minutes and hours meant little to me.

I was barely able to process even the little things, like sitting up straighter so Jazz could change my bandages, or responding when asked if I was comfortable on the couch – which I wasn't, but at least nodding my head and forcing a small smile on my face was enough to get my sister off of my back… even if the casual emotion was obviously fake.

Somewhere, deep inside, I was insanely grateful for everything my sister had done for me. Never in my life did I think I'd have to rely on her as much as I did now. I would have given her thousands of 'thank-you's and appreciative smiles, but I just didn't have the energy or will to show that kind of emotion anymore. Everything around me, myself included, seemed to be completely dead. It was all distant and blurred – when I exchanged a few rare words with Jazz, I wasn't really quite _there_. It was like something had pulled me out of the world and I was only experiencing it from very far away.

Most of the time I slept. Jazz kept insisting my body needed the rest, and I wasn't really in any position to disagree. Though I couldn't _stay_ asleep for more than a few hours at a time – the nightmares were always there, waiting to jump out behind my eyes and get me in my dreams. They were exact replicas of the night before, the same memories that continued to haunt me regardless of how hard I tried to repress them. Each time I closed my eyes, and every time I woke up, my parents were still there. They would hover over the operating table, razor-sharp tools in hand, excited smiles on their faces as they started to cut me apart. But behind their curiosity, a deeper kind of hatred burned in their eyes. Who _cared_ if I screamed? I was a _ghost_. I disgusted them.

And the worst part of it all? I had no idea if their opinions of me had changed at all within those last nineteen hours.

When I wasn't asleep, I simply shut down my mind and tried not to think about anything at all. It was surprisingly easy. In a weird kind of way, I actually felt a little proud of myself for being able to handle all of this. Whether I intended it to or not – _did it really matter?_ – my mind was like a blank slate, or a freshly rebooted computer. Free of memories. Free of reality.

And in other cases – whenever _everything _threatened to crash down and overwhelm my brain again, I would simply stop what I was doing (which was really nothing), squeeze my eyes shut, dig my fingers into my scalp, then simply _stop_. I'd have no desire to move, no desire to think, no desire to do anything at all. I totally and utterly was calm. Just burying the world away helped lessen the sting of betrayal and guilt and pain that I knew were waiting to slam their way back at any time.

But something else had nagged at the back of my head, despite how badly I didn't want to think about it – would I ever be completely, physically recovered? Early in the morning, when Jazz had changed the bandages wrapped around my body, I'd been too tired and emotionally lifeless to pay attention. Later that afternoon, as she changed and cleaned the wound a second time, I'd watched. I wish I hadn't.

The damage really wasn't anything more than a large gash resembling an angry, bloody 'Y' that ran across my chest and ended just a few inches above my navel. My sister had been right – several of my ribs _had_ been broken; I could tell by the horrible bruising and the pain still deep inside my bones. The wound was deep, raw, and smelled a little – and I'd nearly passed out from just the burning agony alone when she'd cleansed it with the antiseptics from hell. Ironically, my mind had flitted back to recall numerous tirades from Sam about the gruesome horrors of laboratory animal vivisection. Only now did I realize she had a point. I was a living cadaver.

I could only count my blessings that my ghost half had managed to heal itself this far on its own. I didn't even want to _think _about how wrong everything would end up if I'd had to be rushed into an emergency room. But driven by a sick, morbid curiosity that just wouldn't go away, I'd actually considered switching to my spectral form, wanting to see what kind of damage my parents' experiments had done. A firm warning from Jazz had ended the argument before it could even begin. I'd be pushing my luck with the healing process, she'd said.

My blue eyes drifted across the living room, into the kitchen, and stared at the door that led down into the lab. It was closed. It had been ever since about four in the morning.

I was still sitting on the couch, absentmindedly swirling on my spoon a little bit of what used to be hot chicken noodle soup, a warm fleece blanket curled around my body. Jazz was off in the shower. The TV flickered and showed some National Geographic documentary on the stars, but I wasn't paying any attention. My mind was still unwillingly locked on my parents. With a resigned sigh, I ignored the bowl of cold soup in favor of propping my feet up on the coffee table and settling back into the cushions, my appetite non-existent.

Still gazing at the door, my brain ran through the mental list of potential reasons why they were still down there. They could be working on some new invention to experiment on me with. They could be fighting. They could be discussing some way to kill me to put me out of my misery. I couldn't help imagining them just barging through the basement door, rushing over to get me with knives and scalpels again, murder in their eyes.

As ridiculous as it seemed, it _did _make me wonder. Did they see their son who just happened to be a ghost? Or a ghost that just happened to be their son?

The weight of emotion I tried to hold back and bury produced an almost physical ache in my chest. _Why_ hadn't they _listened _to me_?_ I'd tried so hard to tell them before it was too late – _oh_, how I'd tried. Did it even cross their minds that I could feel pain? Sorrow? If they _had_ known, would it have even made a difference? They were my _parents_, for God's sake. They were supposed to be the two people in the world who cared about me regardless of anything. Didn't they care? Didn't they love me?

And now, as I sat there on the couch, I felt my relatively blank state of mind completely vaporize, the black memories, fears and nightmares slamming back into me without warning. A soft, quiet scream worked its way from my throat as I buried my head in my hands, wincing at the pain in my chest, feeling my vision burn. I didn't want to try to hold them back anymore. I simply couldn't fight as they twisted and coursed through my heart, allowing them to swallow me under and rip me apart, piece by agonizing piece.

I tried to find a reason to be angry at my parents, tried to find any way to convince myself that all of this was _their_ fault and _their_ fault alone. But there just wasn't any anger to direct to anyone other than myself – it was as simple as that. Blaming Mom and Dad for this mess sounded reasonable, but it wasn't _right_. I was being selfish. And, with a sick feeling in my stomach, I hated myself for it.

I shifted under the blanket a little, bringing the soft fabric over my arms and feeling my heart clench painfully as I looked back at the blinking television. I glared as I rubbed the fresh tears out of my eyes before they could fall and tried to focus all of my attention on the colorful NatGeo CGI images of red and white dwarves, but I was still miles away. There was _one_ other potential scenario that ran through my mind… and it made more sense than any of the others.

They were staying in the lab because they were angry. Angry with me, maybe – angry with themselves, definitely. I felt a cold, heavy weight crush my heart harder than I'd ever felt before. Whoever they were upset with, they weren't going to want to see me anytime soon.

Somehow, this train of thought seemed to spark _something_ within me. _It_ was a small, little nudge in the corner of my mind.

At first _it_ was bizarre, making no sense whatsoever, and then the thought that maybe it _wasn't_ so impractical turned it into something terrifying. _It_ grew into an idea, then a possibility, then finally a hypothetical plan. But my brain refused to accept it, reeling back in horror, trying to shut it out like I'd done so well with everything else. _No._ I couldn't…

I had to face my parents.

In a sick, twisted kind of way, it made sense. I couldn't just _sit there_ forever and wallow in the mess that was my current state. I had to face them. Eventually, one way or another, they'd have to talk to me and there was nothing I could do to stop them. They couldn't stay down in the lab forever, and I couldn't avoid them forever – it was inevitable.

I don't know how long I sat there on the couch, worrying over that simple fact. Curling myself under the blanket, I shut my eyes tightly. The monotonous voice of the documentary narrator was little more than an echo drifting through deaf ears, the show meaning nothing to me. I still struggled to – once again – grasp at what was going on. Thought after horrible thought assaulted my mind… how they'd take it all, what they'd do to me, whether or not I was still their son.

_They know I'm really Phantom_, my mind supplied unhelpfully, and even though it was about the hundredth time I'd repeated the thought, it still felt so unreal. All of the hypothetical scenarios and 'what-if's I'd been asking myself ever since the accident… all of them didn't matter anymore. This wasn't just another 'what-if.' This was the real thing.

I anxiously twisted the soft fabric underneath my fingers, my throat feeling unbelievably tight and dread coiling into my stomach. _This is really happening,_ I thought. And there was nothing I could do to stop it, no rewind button to erase this nightmare – everything was totally beyond my control… I had absolutely no idea of what was going to happen, how they would react once I faced them. It was terrifying.

_You have to face them eventually_, a little voice in the back of my head told me, yet I actually shook my head in response. "I can't…"

_You have to._

I wasn't going to argue with a _voice_ in my _head. _I closed my eyes with a sigh, resting my head back against a couch pillow, just wishing I could curl into a ball and shut out the world until it went away. Until time stopped. Maybe Clockwork, the wizened spirit of time itself, could just rewind the last day so none of this had ever happened. I could go back – we could all go back – to the usual routine of lies and secrecy.

In my mind I snorted. _As if._ I was completely on my own.

* * *

"You haven't finished your soup."

Hours later found me still in the living room. I glanced up to see my sister making her way from the stairs, hair wet from a recent shower, a disapproving scowl on her face.

Absently, I nodded. "Not hungry."

She walked over to the coffee table and took the bowl of cold soup into the kitchen. "You haven't even touched it?" She frowned, standing in the doorway and looking back at me. "Danny, you've _got_ to get something into your stomach."

_Hell knows my stomach would've probably been in several different pieces if it hadn't been for you. _"I'm not _hungry_, Jazz," I stressed, looking back to the television.

Once again, I tried to shut everything out and just do nothing for awhile. But my mind flitted back to my sister – she was still standing there, leaning against the wall, looking down at her feet.

"What?"

She glanced up at me and smiled a little. "Nothing."

I narrowed my eyes. "It's not 'nothing'… You want something from me, don't you?"

Shifting a little under her gaze, I struggled a little with my train of thought. "You want to talk, or something," I muttered, then paused. "No, wait… you want _me _to talk."

She remained quiet.

I sighed, exasperated. "I'm _fine,_ Jazz."

Skeptical, Jazz made a quiet noise of her own before drifting over to the coffee table, taking a seat on the edge of the couch a few feet away from me. She played with her fingers for a moment, as if searching for the right thing to say before she replied. "I don't want to badger you into anything you're not ready to talk about," she said carefully, hesitantly. "But this…"

My eyes darkened. "Forget it," I said, turning away to the T.V., already planning on tuning out the rest of the conversation. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Talking to _me_ probably wouldn't be the best," she agreed. There was a pause. "You've got to go see Mom and Dad."

My head snapped up almost instinctively at the mere mention of our parents, body tense, and my eyes a little wide. "You're…" I struggled to find my voice. "You're joking, right?"

Face morose, my sister shook her head. "I honestly wish I was," she said quietly. "But seriously, just hear me out for a moment. They've been downstairs for nearly _twenty-four hours._ They haven't barged through the door to try and shoot you or anything; they haven't bombarded you with any death threats, and you—"

"No."

"Danny, you're—"

"Fine," I insisted. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not 'fine.' You don't look fine, you don't sound fine, and taking into consideration what happened last night, you _aren't _fine." Her voice came out soft, but unyielding. She ran a hand through her red hair and sighed. "This, to me, is beginning to sound like Post-Traumatic Str—"

"I don't have PTSD," I whispered, avoiding her gaze. "I don't need therapy. I just… Jazz, I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

She remained gentle, but persistent. "Perhaps not," she said, "but you _need _to. Mom and Dad aren't going to live through this, Danny. Neither will you. Physically, yes… but not emotionally. Ignoring this would only end up shattering you in the long run—"

I snorted. "You're talking like I'm a piece of glass or something," I muttered.

"In a way, your psyche is. If you don't go down to that lab and talk to them as soon as possible… the emotional consequences would only end up devastating you on a long-term basis. You wouldn't be able to go near them for a very long time."

I opened my mouth to protest, but – strangely – my brain refused to cooperate. Normally I would have provided a rebuttal, or some sarcastic quip about my sister's psycho-babbling, but I wasn't in the mood. My mind was forcibly taken back to just a couple of hours ago where it'd been following a similar train of thought. But I couldn't admit it – not like this. But, then again… didn't she have a point?

"Danny, I'm sure this is already tearing them up from the inside out, and unless you face them, it'll only get worse. Something like this just doesn't heal overnight. They're our _parents_. You're their _son._"

I remained quiet, staring down at the floor. The notion from earlier still rang clearly in my head. _You have to_. My stomach clenched painfully. A good minute passed between the two of us in silence before I finally looked at my sister with a thousand different emotions burning in my eyes.

"I tried to tell them that while strapped down to an operating table, and that still didn't stop them from wanting to kill me."

My voice had been cold, hollow. Even Jazz seemed stymied for a moment, trying to find the right words, before speaking softly. "But they hadn't known. They hadn't known that it was really you under there – and if you both want to get over this, it's _your _duty to let them know that, little brother."

Duty. Responsibility. In the end, was that what it all came down to?

"You need to let them know that it wasn't their fault, Danny, and that it wasn't _your_ fault." She tried to smile slightly, reaching over to touch my hand. "We'll get through this."

_I'd still just be lying._

"But first –" Jazz stood up and headed into the kitchen, leaving me to stew in my own thoughts – "you're going to eat something."

* * *

"Can't you just call them up here or something?" I asked softly for about the umpteenth time since Jazz and I had gone over what I was to say. She just looked at me and chuckled a little, shaking her head.

"No. I know this sounds hard, and believe me – I wish there was another way… But _you've_ gotta go down there _yourself._" She hesitated. "Do you want to stay afraid of them forever?"

It was supposed to be fairly easy. I'd go down to the lab, talk to Mom and Dad, and just try to work something out with them despite every part of me that protested and tried to come up with yet another excuse, another reason to delay the inevitable. However, I knew I was just being ridiculous. I _knew _that I had to do this. I was supposed to be the hero, right?

Only… the hardest thing about it was that no matter what I would try to do, how hard I would try to apologize and forgive them (if that was even possible), it wouldn't be the same. I was still their son, I guess… but they wouldn't look at me and see Danny Fenton anymore. Half of me was a ghost that they hated. They were my parents… but I was about to lose them for good.

_Haven't you already lost them?_

I took one last glance at my sister before turning to the basement door, letting out a slightly shuddering breath.

"Okay," I whispered to reassure myself, hands trembling as I hesitantly grasped the doorknob. "Okay. Okay…" I continued to repeat the word in my head, desperately trying to relax. I could do this… I could talk to my own mother and father; I had definitely been faced with worse. I was fine.

"I'll be up here if you need me," Jazz murmured from behind me, but I didn't respond. Instead, gritting my teeth, I pulled the door open and slowly began to descend down the stairs.

"You're fine," I breathed, closing my eyes tightly and using the railing to steady myself. I had to move carefully – my chest still hurt like hell and I couldn't over-exert myself. My bare feet echoed in the small stairwell, the confined space pressing down on every nerve. "You're fine. You're okay."

I was a few steps from the bottom when I slowed to a stop, listening carefully. The lab was dead silent, the faint whirring of machines and computers in back the only audible sounds. I could both hear and feel my heart thumping frantically despite the mantra I repeated in my head: _I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay…_

I quietly stepped onto the cold linoleum floor – and froze completely. The blood drained from my face, I couldn't breathe, and my heart nearly stopped in my chest.

A little ways in the back of the lab, off to the side of the closed ghost portal, was a set up of bright lights, shelves and counters, metal trays, and…

My knees suddenly felt weak. The examination table I'd been strapped to was still there, ominous in the intense light. The metal restraints near the corners of the table were swung open and several sharp tools were scattered haphazardly around the floor. But what had captured my attention was the giant spot of red in my vision. Blood – dark red, wet, and glistening – was pooled all across the steel surface. I could see swirls of bright, slightly glowing green mixed in with the crimson… my _own blood_ and _ectoplasm_. Smeared across the table, the floor – even smearing towards my direction where I knew my sister had dragged me away to save my life. Some of it had dried in the middle of oozing lazily to the floor, the sticky fluid quietly suspended off the edge and creating an entirely new level of horror.

I hadn't noticed my parents sitting off on the opposite corner of the lab – until right then. The Day-Glow orange of Dad sat silently in a computer chair. Mom was collapsed against the wall next to him. Both were staring off to the side, lost in their own thoughts. Neither had noticed me.

For a few more seconds, nothing moved. My mouth opened and closed slightly, but no sound could come out. The world had completely stopped, all carefully thought-out plans of what I would say having been swept from my mind before I could process them.

My eyes were torn back to the operating table, to the various abandoned scalpels and needles, to the blood. The swirls of green and red mixed together like oil and water. I could _smell _it. It was like some dramatic scene one would expect from a grisly horror movie… but this was… _real_.

The memories came back again. They were more clear and vivid than ever, cascading through me from all sides, while all I could do was just stand there and watch. I could see myself strapped down. Screaming and begging. Trying to move away from the scalpels and needles digging into my skin. My parents ignoring my desperate cries, continuing their gruesome work; completely oblivious they were slowly killing their own son. I felt physically sick with fear as phantom pains twisted through my stomach as sharp as knives, reality slamming into me like a bus.

The instant my brain kicked back into gear and screamed _DANGER_, I stumbled back with a quiet gasp and staggered onto the bottom of the stairs. Dad's head snapped up at the sudden sound and he blinked, completely surprised I was down here. "Danny…?"

I _couldn't _do this. "I-I…" Panic seizing my heart, I turned without another word and bolted back upstairs, slamming the door closed behind me.

* * *

I don't know how long I just stood there, leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes shut tightly as I just concentrated on breathing. _In, out. _It could have been hours; it could have been minutes. Jazz was busy rambling on and on, furiously berating herself on even letting me go down there in the first place after I'd numbly glossed over what had happened. Meanwhile, my thoughts had successfully grinded to a halt while I tried to block out the memories of what'd just happened – the lab, my parents, the table… the blood—

_No,_ I hissed, firmly shoving the flashbacks to the back of my mind. My sister continued her self- reproaching tirade. _In, out._ _In… out._

"…can't _believe _I was so _stupid _to let him go down there right now," she growled to herself. "God! Of _course _Mom and Dad weren't going to be rational enough to clean anything up after last night… damned PTSD triggers; now they're all gonna—"

"Jazz," I muttered, my knuckles going white as I gripped the edge of the counter, "just… stop. It's fine." _In, out._

"But I…" She sighed, leaning against the kitchen table and looking at me with heavy regret. "I shouldn't have… Christ, I'm such an _idiot_."

I opened my mouth to respond, but whatever I was going to say died in my throat as I heard the soft clunking of several feet coming up the stairs. Jazz heard the noise as well – her eyes widened a little and she tensed, staring over at the door. "They're actually…"

Mom and Dad quietly stepped into the kitchen. Unconsciously I'd taken a few steps back, pressing into the counter top. For a moment, neither of us moved. Leaning into my father's arm, Mom's gaze was everywhere but me, but even from over here I could see the pain in her face and the small glimmers of fresh tears in nearly bloodshot eyes. My father glanced at Jazz and wore a strained half-smile.

"Could we… could we sit down and talk, please?"

His voice was soft – and surprisingly brittle. Yet noting how he hadn't actually asked _me_ to 'sit down and talk,' I flicked my gaze over to my sister. She nodded faintly, looking back to the living room. "Why don't we… go sit down over there?" She said carefully, meeting my eyes. After telling herself she'd screwed up so much earlier, it was obvious in her face that she wanted to make sure I was okay with this.

My shoulders shrugged a little as I headed into the living room first. I felt eyes boring deep into my back as I slowly took a seat on the edge of the couch, too aware of the sharp pain in my torso. Jazz sat down next to me and, oddly, I felt less exposed and a little more relaxed. My parents hovered by the doorway for a moment before hesitantly following suit – they seemed to act as if they weren't in their own home anymore. Dad grabbed a chair a reasonable distance away from my sister and me, while Mom simply remained standing. She stared off into the distance, an unreadable expression on her face.

For a few precious moments, no one said a thing. The silence was broken only by the sharp ticking of the wall clock and I couldn't help but shift uncomfortably, looking around everywhere but at my parents. None of us were willing to break the silence and speak first – but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. With a nauseating familiarity, I found myself having absolutely no idea what to do or how to say anything. The tension in the air could have been cut with a knife.

Finally – _finally – _it seemed to be too much for my father to handle. He cleared his throat and seemed to quietly struggle with something to say. Almost expectantly, I glanced up at both of my parents, and – for one horrible, fleeting moment – our eyes met.

_Different. _That was the only word my mind could supply at the moment, but it was enough to strike deep into my heart, shattering something inside me. The way they looked at me – it was just… different. Their gazes lacked those familiar sparks of warmth and love that were supposed to be there. They weren't looking at me as their son… but as someone entirely different. Almost as if I was a stranger. Just a ghost.

Mouth dry and shoulders tense, I tore my eyes away in favor of staring down at the floor. The image from several seconds ago was still fresh in my mind, having burnt through me like a brand – and it crushed me to realize my own mother and father were still staring at me with something I'd never wanted to see: wary distrust.

_This is all your goddamn fault, you know_.

That single black thought curled around my heart like a venomous snake, refusing to let go. I was disgusted with myself. If _only _I'd told them beforehand; if only they'd known. For a moment I just sat there, focusing on the unbearable amount of self-hatred, pain and guilt that twisted through me all at once, the way I managed to swallow it down with difficulty. Taking in an uneasy, shuddering breath, I looked at my parents and finally choked out, "I'm sorry."

Dad shifted a little, looking down at his feet, his voice coming out quiet and almost broken. "It's… it's not your fault."

"Yes, it is…" I muttered, staring off to the side. Jazz tensed next to me, but I ignored her. "It's my fault. If it weren't for this stupid, disgusting secret—"

"You should have told us."

The accusation in my mother's voice slammed into my stomach like a dagger. For a moment I was taken aback, not knowing how to respond. "I… I know…"

"You lied to us…"

"Maddie."

…_This is _not _happening,_ my mind whispered. This was it. Everything I'd tried to deny in the past was suddenly happening. Swallowing hard, I gazed down at my feet and flinched, waiting for the rejection and the anger from my parents that was sure to come. I couldn't stop the fresh wave of painful, raw guilt from welling up, almost threatening to pull me apart again. "I-I just—"

"_Why?_"

"I…"

"Damn it, Danny, _why?_" Mom's eyes flashed with an unbelievable amount of guilt and hurt and anger. I found myself unable to speak at the first true _glare _I'd ever seen her give to me, but she beat me to any kind of response I could have given. "Why didn't you _tell _us? We… Why didn't… why…" Crossing her arms closer to her chest, she closed her mouth and tried to hold in a small, choked sob, unable to finish. My father didn't appear to be anywhere near as anguished as Mom was – but his face still held a strange mixture of weary sorrow.

My mind was just as messed up, panicked thoughts running everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I could literally feel a wide chasm opening up between us. The entire living room seemed to radiate with some sort of impenetrable tension that – I knew with bleak certainty – would completely change everything forever.

As I desperately struggled to come up with something to say, my family on the verge of completely breaking in half, that same kind of guilt and self-hatred from earlier began to well up inside me and burn like an open sore. I swore quietly, shutting my eyes with a grimace and digging my fingers into the couch cushions. This was _wrong,_ all wrong. I should have told them the second after that stupid accident. _Why _did all of this have to happen and completely destroy the remains of anything I could call 'normal' in my life? _Why _couldn't I have stopped it?

_Stupid... _In the end, I couldn't do anything except remain quiet – but inside I was kicking myself with every insult I could find. _Stupid, sick, filthy idiot. Everything's ruined and it's all my fault._

"Son," I heard my father finally murmur. "We… If you hadn't kept this… a secret, then… we wouldn't have—"

"Would it have mattered?" I asked softly, opening my eyes to gaze blankly at the little knots of wood on the coffee table. "Would have even mattered at all?

"Of – of course. But… you should have told us, because we—"

"Well, forgive me if I was unable to talk while I was drugged," I said, my voice kind of bitter. "I… I _tried_. You wouldn't have believed me even if I'd _tried_."

"No," my mother whispered, hugging her arms close and refusing to look at me. "No, before, in the past… before we…" She bit her lower lip. "_Why? _Why didn't you _trust _us? We… we love you!"

Almost out of the blue, there was a strong flash of loathing and terror that went off in my head like a bomb. "Right," I said. "Right. You and Dad _sure _showed a lot of that love and compassion while you tried to _dissect _me _alive _last night," I spat, feeling my eyes burn. "Why the hell do you _think_ I kept lying?"

"But…"

"But what? You guys said so yourself that I was just this disgusting, evil monster, remember?"

"But… but… N-no, you aren't—… But we could have… could have helped you, fixed y…" Trailing off, Mom's eyes widened. She hadn't meant to say that.

_Fixed?_

It'd been false hope to think my parents really _would _accept me for who I was, hadn't it? They still hated Phantom. Months and months of secrets and lies and betrayal had inflicted irreparable damage to our relationship. Their son was now some sort of worthless, wretched, half-ghost eyesore that wasn't _really _their son anymore… right? In their eyes, was I just some sort of mistake? Some freak of nature that needed to be _fixed?_

My eyes narrowed despite the crushing blow of unbelievable hurt and guilt that slammed into my chest. I could feel my heart pounding, my breathing steady but shallow. "So, I should have been fixed."

"Danny." Jazz spoke up at last, putting a tentative hand on my shoulder. I gently shrugged it off, daring yet another glimpse back at my parents.

But my last words seemed to snap something within my mother, at first, and pain beyond anything I'd ever seen before glistened in her eyes. "No… no, no… I-I didn't mean that…" she murmured, almost to herself. Eyes distant, she swayed a little, her previous anger crumbling away into what I could only recognize as complete anguish and regret as the truth of last night finally seemed to slam into her. "I… didn't mean… God, I… I-I tortured my own child…"

_Aren't you blowing this a little out of proportion? _I couldn't help but ask myself as Mom suddenly collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Dad leapt out of his chair to kneel by her, murmuring what I assumed to be words of reassurance. Maddie Fenton was reduced to a complete mess. I'd never seen her act anything remotely close to this.

I was suddenly unsure of myself. I glanced at Jazz; my sister had been silent all this time, but now she looked at me, soberly nodding once. _Go,_ her eyes said.

I hesitated, but not because my instincts were yelling at me to just get up and run out of the house. As much as I wanted to talk to them, how was I supposed to do it? There was no way I could try to fix this mess on my own; Jazz was right – if it hadn't already, a torrent of guilt was eating my parents up from the inside.

But before I'd realized it, my mind was made up. I stood from the couch and (painfully) walked over to where my parents were on the floor, arms wrapped around myself, wary uncertainty all but obvious on my face. "I'm sorry…"

Dad looked up at me as Mom continued to cry softly into his arms and wore a solemn look on his face, a complete, eerie contrast to his usual cheery enthusiasm. He offered me a small smile. I let my gaze shift over to my mother. Nothing happened for a long moment, while I studied the strange look on her face as she noticed my presence – her wide eyes, the way she stiffened slightly and pressed back into my father. My dad's own strange expression. And then – with a quiet stab of despair – it dawned on me.

They were _afraid…_

My own parents were… _afraid _of me.

Though I had to wonder, with sick curiosity – was it really me, or did they really fear themselves? Either one would make sense, given the circumstances. I tossed the thought aside for now as I cautiously sank into a crouch in front of my mother, trying not to visibly wince at the sharp pain from my stomach. I briefly wondered if I should reach out and touch one of their arms to comfort them, or talk, or _something. _But in the end I just stared at the carpet, remaining where I was. "I'm sorry," I whispered again, evading their eyes.

"Son," my father spoke after another painfully long moment of silence, hesitating, "don't… If anyone – _anyone _– should be sorry, it's us."

"It's… it's not…" I took a deep breath, my mind racing with so many different emotions at once. 'It's not your fault'? Wasn't it their fault? Wasn't it _my _fault? How the _hell_ was I supposed to comfort them?

Oddly, Dad didn't need to hear the completed sentence to know what I was going to say. "But it is our fault. We should have known…"

"I… I kind of did everything in my power to keep you from knowing," I said softly.

"No," my mother whispered, shutting her eyes tight. "No, no, no… it's all our fault." Her voice quavered for a moment, and Dad gently squeezed her arm. "We… hunted you and shot at you and… the experiments last night…"

Bright lights. Agony. Screaming. There was an imminent threat of the relentless flashbacks again – but, gritting my teeth, I managed to shove them to the back of my mind.

"You still should have told us before all of this," my father mumbled, almost to himself. "We love you."

I looked up at him, my face dismal. "You said you hated me."

…and right then, _something _seemed to snap within my mother. She choked out another soft sob, suddenly pulling away from my dad's arms to grab me in her own embrace, holding me close – _ouch – _and burying her head into my shoulder. Eyes wide with shock, I stiffened, trying to ignore the instinctive impulse to wrench myself away. I didn't know what to do, how to respond. No words could come.

"No," she whispered, "I love you. My baby… I love you, Danny; I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-I'm sorry…"

I wanted to forgive both them and myself. I wanted to – so, so much. I wanted to return the embrace, apologize and say that it was alright, and just leave all of this behind and move onward. But despite her gentle maternal reassurances, Mom's haunting words from just last night echoed through my ears, their meanings forever branded into my brain.

_You're a _ghost_. A lying, disgusting monster. And you are most certainly _not _our son._

"Oh, Danny, Danny, I'm so sorry…"

_They would never accept this._

"It'll be okay, son." Wrapping his large arms around the both of us, Dad's attempt at a genuine smile seemed a little strained, hidden under a facade of imaginary, tentative reassurance that I was sure would also be on my mother's face in due time. Whatever was going on behind that mask refused to show, and as the final pieces of my broken world settled into place, I decided the only real option was to just let everything go and just… play along for now, I guess. "We'll… we'll fix this. It'll be okay…"

I looked up at my father and tried to smile back. "I know," I lied softly.

My smile was forced.

_**-End**_

* * *

**_Author's Note:_** _Again, thank you all so much for the incredible response and support! Feedback after this last chapter would really be appreciated. On another note, I've been getting a lot of requests and messages for a sequel to this story, and since I'm too lazy to reply to them all, I'll just post my answer here: I don't know. I wanted Lab Rat to end on a note that would sort of leave it up to the readers to imagine what would happen afterwards, and anything can happen after this point, really._

_Perhaps, in the future, I'll make some sort of one-shot or mini-sequel or maybe something that'd focus on what his parents were thinking. It's not really a 'yes,' and it's not really a 'no.' For now, I just don't know. XD_


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